


the map is not the territory

by Sixthlight



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Canon-Typical Violence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Historical Inaccuracy, Inspired By Tumblr, M/M, Minor Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Undercover Missions, all the usual suspects are here, but none of them quite warrant a character tag, of the On Purpose type
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28872141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sixthlight/pseuds/Sixthlight
Summary: If you asked anybody in the castle right now, they’d say that Duke Nicolò did have a concubine, and his name was Yusuf al-Kaysani. Neither Yusuf nor the Duke had ever said so in so many words, of course, but it was understood. It was also untrue. The real story was much stranger.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 66
Kudos: 760





	the map is not the territory

**Author's Note:**

> A Joe/Nicky version of [this tumblr post](https://swingsetindecember.tumblr.com/post/639228403982188544/fake-relationship-but-its-a-king-and-his-concubine):
> 
> _fake relationship but its a king and his concubine that was once an amazing soldier but he couldn’t go up the ranks for whatever reason so the king was like listen. hear me out. you can be my strategy dude. u just gotta be okay w walking around shirtless a lot. and soldier dude is like man that’s an UPSIDE and yknow they end up falling in love_
> 
> _some idiot advisor: I can’t believe his majesty lets his boytoy attend these council meetings, it’s an insult to the noble institutions that uphold our nation, it’s an outrage—_
> 
> _a somewhat smarter advisor: you’re just mad bc he pointed out how dumb your naval attack strategy and no one laughed when you made a mean joke about him_
> 
> Please take as read my usual disclaimer about the vaguely not at all accurate romcom medieval Mediterranean-ish setting.

Yusuf was frowning at the big map on the windowless wall of the council room, mentally overlaying trade routes onto it, when he heard footsteps in the corridor. He slipped silently back to the bench in the corner, picking up his lute. When the first person entered, he was playing the same eight notes over and over, with minor variations, as if working out a new tune. Actually he _was_ doing that; someone was going to notice if he kept playing the same five or six pieces. But mostly he was still thinking about the map.

The first person in the door was Captain Nile, who greeted him courteously. The next person was Sir Keane, who didn’t even look at him. That was fine by Yusuf; he could not like the man, and did not try to. They kept coming, all Duke Nicolò’s councillors. The Duke himself was second to last in, the castellan Sébastien on his heels. Sébastien gave Yusuf a friendly nod. Nicolò gave Yusuf the briefest of smiles, like light glinting on water. Yusuf grinned back, as if it had been a much more effusive greeting; well, for Nicolò, it was. He noticed other people noticing, as they were meant to.

A pity it was mostly for show.

A serious discussion ensued, about the disposition of troops and their continued border clashes with Pisa. Stephen of Amery was arguing for a show of force by sea; Captain Nile was against it. The council seemed evenly split.

At one point, Lord Stephen scowled in Yusuf’s direction. “What is he still doing here?”

“I want him here,” Nicolò said mildly. “Are you distracted by a little music?”

“He’s very…decorative,” Stephen said, with distaste.

“Makes up for you, Stephen,” said Nile immediately, and several people laughed, Sébastien and General Andromache the loudest. Yusuf caught Nicolò’s eye and saw him shake his head very slightly; he hadn’t been about to speak anyway, but he bent his head over his lute.

“You _are_ looking particularly decorative today,” General Andromache said to him when the meeting had ended, and everybody was leaving.

“Thank you, I worked very hard at it,” Yusuf told her, and it was true; he’d picked the bench because it put him in the sunlight from the long window that overlooked the sea, he’d left off his undertunic and his shoes, and he’d trimmed his beard just this morning. He was working _extremely_ hard at being decorative. He had never realised, before he came to the palace, what an effective form of camouflage it could be.

“Someday I must introduce you to my wife,” the General said enigmatically, and strode out of the room. That just left Yusuf and Duke Nicolò. Yusuf put down the lute.

Nicolò shut the door. “Well?”

“The thing that I didn’t understand,” Yusuf said, going over to the map on the wall, “was why Lord Stephen was so insistent that you should consider a naval blockade, when the attacks have been on land; Pisa is not so reliant on the sea that it would stop them, and if anything it would likely make things _worse_ , because they _do_ rely on naval trade. It would be very aggressive.”

“Yes, Nile made that clear.” Nicolò nodded. “But she did not seem so certain about the effect on their troops.”

“Well, if you have spent time on the border, you hear the accents,” Yusuf said. “They are local. They aren’t short of soldiers from their own lands.”

Nicolò’s mouth crooked again; it was probably a bad sign, Yusuf thought, how much it pleased him to make the Duke smile. He couldn’t give good advice if he was bent on that. “I knew there was another reason I kept you around.”

“I’m fairly certain Stephen and Keane think you’re fucking me on the council table about now.” Yusuf said it lightly, as a joke, and also because he was still working out how he felt about _that_ aspect of the situation; it helped, sometimes, to say it out loud. 

“Not really the right height,” Nicolò said at once, entirely straight-faced, and it caught Yusuf aback. Nicolò actually laughed. “Sorry; I do not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Your reputation doesn’t lend itself to making that sort of snap judgement, that’s all, your grace.”

“That’s because I know how to be discreet.” Nicolò made a face. “Unlike _some_ people in this court.”

“Hmm,” Yusuf said, taken aback again.

Nicolò shook his head. “Let us change the subject, perhaps.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Yusuf said, because it didn’t. He wasn’t that young, or that straight-laced. “I merely like to think I take a little more wooing than that.”

“I’ll remember it,” Nicolò said at once, and then sighed. “So. Tell me why you think Lord Stephen might say such a thing, when he is not an unintelligent man.”

“I don’t know. His family has its fingers in a great deal of trade through Pisa. I can’t imagine it would benefit them.”

Nicolò studied the map, his eyes dark. “No.” His mouth grew thin. “I hope you’re not bored of being decorative in the corner yet, Yusuf.”

“I like to think of it as an intelligence-gathering mission.”

“And so it is,” Duke Nicolò agreed.

*

Afterwards, Yusuf went back to his chambers. He had _chambers_ , more than one, and a door that opened discreetly through to Duke Nicolò’s rooms.

It was locked, from his side, and Yusuf had the key. Nicolò had given it to him when Sébastien had put him in these chambers, saying that he thought perhaps it might make Yusuf more comfortable. Yusuf genuinely couldn’t tell if the castellan believed they were lovers or not, or whether he just thought it had been funny to give Yusuf the rooms that would have belonged to the Duke’s spouse, if he’d had one, or his concubine, if he’d had one.

If you asked anybody in the castle right now, they’d say that he did, and his name was Yusuf al-Kaysani. Neither Yusuf nor the Duke had ever said so in so many words, of course, but it was _understood_. It was also untrue. The real story was much stranger.

*

It had begun, of course, with the massacre.

Neither rumour nor official record described it as a massacre, but that was what it had been. Yusuf had been travelling back from Pisa, on his family’s business, and their small party had ended up camped for the night alongside a patrol of Genoan soldiers. It had been amicable enough; they were all from the same city, after all, and the patrol had been well-behaved. Yusuf had considered it fortunate, in fact, as there were growing rumours of bandits operating in the area. It was not as if he and his companions could not defend themselves, but numbers always helped.

So he’d gone to sleep with a quiet mind, and woken to the sound of screams.

He had seen very little. They had been camped in an old oak grove, and the moon had nearly set. Battle slowed the mind, and things came back later in fits and starts that were not always reliable memories. But he knew this much; he had awoken to screaming and yelling, and the gut-wrenching sound of steel being buried in flesh. He had scrabbled for his own blade, and barely rolled out of the way of a thrust that would have taken him through his stomach. He had been unarmoured. He had fought for his life, able only to defend himself, for in the darkness he could not tell friend from foe. He had prayed, desperately, that he was not attacking anyone in his own camp.

The sounds of the fight had grown quieter and the number of men trying to kill him had increased, and he had realised that if he was not the last man standing, he might be near to it. Wounded, he had attempted to run. The darkness had aided him; he had made it to the edge of the grove, but the sounds of pursuit had been too close behind. He had climbed the nearest tree, as quickly and quietly as he could, the bark scraping his palms. The attackers – pursuers – whoever they were, had gathered very close to where he had clung to a high branch, the sound of his own breathing echoing in his ears. They had paused. Consulted. Started to look around.

Heart pounding, Yusuf had reached for an unripe acorn or two and thrown them at an outcrop of stone, just visible in the field beyond the edge of the grove. The sharp noise had drawn the attention of the people below him; they had fanned out, one taller man shouting orders to the others. He waited. He waited. They did not return.

He’d climbed down from his tree, stiff and sleepless and horrified, when the sky had begun to lighten. Back at the camp, there had been only the dead; mostly the soldiers from the patrol, and his travelling party. The ones he didn’t recognise had Pisa’s badge sewn onto their clothing. There were only three of them, and Yusuf thought he might have killed two of them himself. His own party seemed to have been killed in their sleep.

Yusuf had lost track of the next hour or two, in his grief; he knew only that he had staggered into the nearest village that afternoon. It was very small. They had helped with the bodies, but there had been no official or local lord to report to. So Yusuf had travelled on, that same day. He had encountered a rash of officials out of town and lords gone travelling, and ended up riding all the way back to Genoa, exhausted, dirty, and grief-stricken. He might have been taken for a lunatic if Nile hadn’t been captaining the guard that shift. They had met before, on a better day, and she had cleared the guardroom, insisted that he eat and drink, and listened to his story. Then she had taken him to the palace.

Yusuf knew of Duke Nicolò, of course, but had never met him in person, only seen him at a distance. Nicolò’s father had served as duke some years before, but he had still been seen as an unlikely candidate; younger than most of the rest of the men and women eligible to be chosen, with a reputation as decisive and attentive, but not a man who put himself forward. Yusuf had heard that General Andromache had supported him, and that had swung the vote among the city’s nobility. It was said that Stephen of Amery had been particularly put out by his election, but Yusuf knew _him_ as an underhanded dealer and poor loser besides, so that was a point in Duke Nicolò’s favour.

The Duke had turned out to be as handsome as rumour claimed, which was _very_ unusual in a ruler, and lived up to his reputation. He had Yusuf tell his story again, without any interruption, watching him intently the entire way through. In other circumstances, the weight of attention would have felt flattering. In this one, Yusuf found it unnerving. But also a little flattering. Well, he wasn’t immune to a handsome face.

“You aren’t the first to report this,” the Duke had said when he had finished, “but you are the first survivor. To my knowledge, there weren’t any.”

Yusuf had frowned. “Did nobody speak to the locals? I went to the nearest village –”

“The raid was on the village as well,” Captain Nile had said. “Later in the day. No survivors there, either.”

Yusuf felt a chill down his spine. It had been an average farming village; there had been elders. Children. “But I was there.”

“I think you missed the Pisans by a few hours,” the Duke had said. “Our information is that they must have arrived at dusk.”

Yusuf had swallowed. “But they weren’t Pisan; I am sure I said so.”

Both the Duke and Captain Nile had stiffened. “Not Pisan?”

Yusuf had shaken his head. “If they were, they did not speak like them, in the heat of battle. And badges can be sewn on anybody’s clothes.”

The Duke had drummed his fingers on the table. “I think we should keep you close, Yusuf al-Kaysani. You are very observant.”

“I think we should keep him hidden,” Captain Nile had said. “Something’s off here. If they think there are no survivors –”

The Duke had grimaced. “I was going to just assign him to my council.”

“You can’t do that anyway, your grace.” Captain Nile had sighed. “You used up enough credit with certain parts of your court getting _me_ on there.”

“I can’t just keep him hanging around court not doing anything,” the Duke had said. “Well, I can, but it seems wasteful.”

“With all due respect, your grace,” Yusuf had interrupted. “I have responsibilities. To my family. And bad news to deliver.”

“You will be given time for that,” the Duke had assured him. “But after…” He had frowned thoughtfully. “Do you have any talents that would excuse you being here? Unfortunately I have a secretary, and he’s very good. And plenty of people who can carry blades, which it sounds like you have some skill with.”

“I can do accounts,” Yusuf had said unenthusiastically, because he could but he didn’t enjoy it, “and I am considered to have some skill at art. I can play –” 

The Duke had nodded, cutting him off. “Alright, that’s it; you can be my new court musician. We don’t have one of those yet. All the best courts do, so I am constantly told.”

Captain Nile had eyed Yusuf critically. “Your grace. If I may say so. If you do that, everybody is going to assume he’s your new lover.”

“That’s even better, isn’t it? Layers upon layers?”

The Captain had caught Yusuf’s eye; he realised she was worried he wouldn’t like that. He had done them all the favour of thinking about it, then shrugged. “That makes sense to me.” He considered it further. “In fact…it might be an amusing game to play.”

A crooked smile had spread across the Duke’s face. Yusuf liked it very much. “I think, then, we have a plan.”

*

If that really had been the whole of the plan, Yusuf reflected, lying on his very sumptuous (and entirely his) bed, he probably would have got bored with it after a week or two. He didn’t mind playing the part of Nicolò’s not-very-secret lover; he had been allowed to quietly explain to his parents what was going on, and that was the only thing he might otherwise have worried about. He had enjoyed getting to know the goings-on of court, and much of it was information that would be useful for his family, in the long term. He liked some of the people he’d met; Sébastien the castellan and his wife Adèle, General Andromache, the Duke’s secretary James. He disliked others, such as Lord Stephen and his close allies Sir Keane and Abbess Meta. But it would have been quite lonely, with only Captain Nile knowing the truth of his presence. 

Instead, the first time Nicolò had had him sit in the background of a council meeting, he had asked him for his thoughts afterward. Yusuf had realised when he had said that he thought Yusuf was observant, he had meant that he wanted the benefit of that observation. And Yusuf had discovered, a little to his own surprise, that he _liked_ it; that the great men and women of the Duke’s council were not so much greater than anybody else Yusuf had met; that there were things he knew, from his travels, that could give Nicolò a perspective he could not get from anybody else. It would, in fact, have become hard for Yusuf to hold his tongue, were it not that he knew he would get to speak with Nicolò once the meeting was done. 

The contempt from some quarters for Yusuf’s supposed position…that was harder to take, it was true. He looked at the locked door, and wondered what it would be like, if Nicolò had _wanted_ to make it true. Certainly, he suspected, many men in his position might have, or expected it as some sort of service. But instead Nicolò had always been unfailingly courteous, and assumed nothing. Which Yusuf almost regretted. Sadly, unlike many other people of Yusuf’s acquaintance, Nicolò had not become less attractive upon close inspection. He was good-looking, _and_ he was kind, _and_ he was intelligent, _and_ he had big, dexterous hands that it was very easy for Yusuf to imagine –

Yusuf sighed, and got up, and set himself to go walk around the garden five times; he was growing lax with this palace life, and speculating fruitlessly about things he should not.

*

Two thing happened that changed that: firstly, Pisa sent an ambassador, and secondly, Yusuf realised why he had never liked Sir Keane. They weren’t unrelated. The arrival of the ambassador was cause for a banquet, to welcome her. Yusuf had no official role to play, but was put at the high table nevertheless – he wasn’t sure whether to blame Sébastien or his wife for it – and dealt with it by being as recklessly charming as he knew how. He made Nicolò laugh three times. Surely nobody could doubt why Yusuf was there. Andromache introduced him to her wife, who was beautifully dressed in silk that started a conversation which lasted a good half-hour; Yusuf’s family traded principally in cloth. Madame Quỳnh was not a soldier like her wife, so far as Yusuf knew, but there was something in the way she handled a knife at table that told him she was not incapable with it in other contexts, either. He said as much.

“You _are_ observant,” she replied. “Most people think I am Andromache’s opposite.”

“I have always thought,” Yusuf said, “that true love requires some degree of similarity; not in everything, because that would be dull, but some sympathy of the soul.”

“Very nicely put.” She nodded. “Nicolò has a way with words, too.”

“Ah – yes,” Yusuf said, wrong-footed, because he hadn’t meant to imply – but it was true, Nicolò _was_ good with words. He glanced down the table at the Duke, haloed by candlelight, and thought again how unfair it was, how easy it was to like him. But probably that was why he was the Duke in the first place. He saw Quỳnh following his glance, and smiling indulgently.

People were leaving the tables, and dancing was beginning; Yusuf excused himself, suddenly nervous, unsure what he was really doing here, in the Duke’s court, like he belonged there. He would take a few minutes, and return. He had more observing to do.

The palace’s great hall had a balcony around the upper edge with some doors that opened onto the rest of the palace, and some to the open air, overlooking the ocean. Yusuf climbed up there and stepped out into the cool night air for a moment, breathing out, breathing in. Somewhere across the city were his family; he had barely seen them for weeks now. That was not unusual, when he travelled, but this was a journey without an obvious end. He wondered what they really thought about it. He wondered what his sisters, who had only been told that he had a position at court, thought. Noor was old enough to catch rumours. This was not that large a city.

The cool night air was calming. He stepped back inside. Below, there was dancing. He looked instinctively for Nicolò, but could not see him among the dancers, or at the high table. Right below him, he saw Sir Keane. He said something sharply and loudly; Yusuf could not quite make out the words above the music.

He was thrown back, suddenly, dizzyingly, to that night when he had hidden in the oak tree, wounded and hunted. To the hunters standing below the tree. One of them had called out –

Someone touched his elbow, and he whirled, grabbing for a blade that wasn’t there – he wore his eating knife on the other side – only to realise he was looking into Nicolò’s startled green eyes.

“Yusuf!” he said. “Yusuf. I startled you; I apologise.”

“No,” Yusuf said, his heart beating in his throat. Keane. It had been Keane. He was as sure as he’d ever been of anything. “No, I…”

He looked left and right; there were other people up on the internal balcony. He pulled Nicolò outside. Nicolò came with only a curious glance, and Yusuf was momentarily stunned by it, by his trust. What had he done to earn it, really?

“It’s Keane,” he said as soon as they were outside, in a low voice that wouldn’t carry. “I saw him. That night. I didn’t recognise him until – but I’m sure of it.”

Nicolò’s eyes widened, for just a second, before his face hardened. “I believe you.”

“Wait. You do? Why?”

“You are very good with faces, and voices,” Nicolò said. “I’ve seen it; you haven’t been here a month and you can tell who’s coming before they’re round the corner. And you have no reason to lie about this, that I know of.”

“They’re trying to start a war with Pisa,” Yusuf said, and “They killed _children_ , Nicolò.”

“I am aware,” Nicolò said, very softly, and Yusuf could tell he was terribly, deeply angry. So was Yusuf, buried somewhere under the remembered and current panic.

Yusuf became aware, as they looked at each other, that someone was approaching the doorway to the external balcony they stood on; more than one person, speaking to each other. He recognised Nicolò’s secretary James, and Lord Stephen. They were getting closer, very quickly.

Yusuf realised later that there was nothing that needed to be hidden, about him speaking with Nicolò; they were thought to be lovers; nobody would have blinked at them enjoying the night air together. Serenely. A foot apart. But the only thought in his mind right then was that Lord Stephen was Sir Keane’s ally and surely must have a hand in this, and they couldn’t let him suspect anything. So he took Duke Nicolò into his arms, and kissed him.

Nicolò either got the point immediately or – well, he must have realised immediately what was happening, that was all. He kissed Yusuf back, sliding one hand around his ribs and cupping the side of his face with the other. Yusuf was trying very hard to look decorative and – not to put too fine a point on it – like someone a reserved and dutiful Duke might be seduced into misbehaving with at an official banquet. So he licked into Nicolò’s mouth hungrily, and pressed up against him. There was a lot of him to press up against. Nicolò’s hand on his ribs slid around, to pull their hips together. Yusuf was entirely unsure where the line was here and, for just a moment, blissfully unworried about it.

There were some surprised and displeased exclamations from the doorway, and the noises of hasty retreat. Yusuf, very reluctantly, pulled back. Nicolò – the Duke – opened his eyes. Yusuf hadn’t noticed him closing them.

He opened his mouth, but Yusuf was very aware that the footsteps hadn’t gone _that_ far; he put a finger over it. Nicolò’s eyes went wide in a different and very gratifying way. It made Yusuf’s pulse jump, except approximately half the blood in his body had migrated to his cock, so it wasn’t his pulse, exactly.

“I shouldn’t keep you from the banquet, your grace,” he said, not loudly but not deliberately quiet.

“You’re right, of course,” said Nicolò, and dropped his hands; Yusuf realised belatedly they were still holding each other, and dropped his as well. Then Nicolò leaned forward and breathed into his ear “No lover of mine would call me _your grace_ in bed,” and that sent whatever blood Yusuf had left in his body to his face. He would have stayed out there until he’d cooled off – in several senses – but Nicolò guided him back into the noisy hall by his elbow, and Yusuf knew at once that if anybody _hadn’t_ believed he was the Duke’s unofficial concubine, they certainly believed it now.

He went to bed very late, and very tired, but not so tired that he didn’t take himself in hand, thinking about those few moments on the balcony. It was only natural to think about it; it was a distraction from the night’s other implications. At no point did he think about unlocking that door, or wonder what was happening on the other side of it. Or at least that was what he convinced himself in the morning.

*

Yusuf didn’t get a chance to speak to Nicolò about what it meant that someone from his own court – his own advisory council, was attempting to start a war and murdering innocent people to do it. Much less about what had passed between them the night of the banquet, if Yusuf had known what he wanted to say about that, which he did not. _If we are letting everybody think I am your lover, I see no reason we shouldn’t enjoy ourselves_ wasn’t something he knew how to say to the current Duke of the city. And Nicolò, though he had been as civil as ever, had not indicated he wished to speak of it again.

In any case, the current and most pressing matter was that the Pisan ambassador had come, so it was made known, to invite Duke Nicolò to a meeting at the border. Pisa, it seemed, was in this instance eager to make it clear that they disclaimed responsibility for the deaths that had occurred, and did not want to use it as an excuse, either.

This made sense to Yusuf; he could name half a dozen ways in which trade here depended on trade through Pisa, and neither city was likely to benefit from yet another minor war.

“But surely,” he said to Nicolò, “you do not need me to tell you this; you have an entire council for such matters.”

“I do,” Nicolò agreed, “but you must have noticed who sits on it – landowners, and soldiers. And some of the Christian clergy, but they own land as well. I do not have any advice from merchant families like yours, and so it is useful to know how you see it.”

“So, will you go south?”

Nicolò made a humming noise. “I’m considering it.” He eyed Yusuf. “You don’t think it’s a good idea. Why?”

Yusuf grimaced. “There has already been one unexpected ambush.”

“But Sir Keane would travel with us, of course,” Nicolò replied. “I think that would cut down on the risk. Don’t you?”

“I suppose so,” Yusuf said. Having recognised him, it made him uneasy to be around Keane with no weapon in hand; his memories of the ambush were too vivid, and his grief too unexamined and raw. Being in the palace had not left him time to think overmuch on what had happened. But then, Keane was unarmed when he was in the palace too; even Andromache didn’t walk armed around the palace, at least not as an everyday occurrence.

Still, it made wandering around the palace with his lute in hand feel like the first time he had ridden out, young and impetuous, along a route where there were said to be bandits. He sat in more discreet corners at meetings, and played more softly; he did not want to draw any curious attention. General Andromache made it difficult. In the middle of a furious argument over whether the Duke should accept the invitation to go south, she turned to him. Yusuf could barely keep track of who was saying what, so he wasn’t trying; he was watching faces instead.

“And what do you think?” the General asked him. Yusuf had been too busy noting that Lord Stephen’s mouth was saying _no_ , but his eyes were brightening every time the mood of the room shifted further towards _yes_.

For some reason, her comment came at a lull in the debate. Everybody’s eyes turned to him.

“I think it is a very beautiful journey south, but faster by ship,” Yusuf said. This was true, but a poor choice of words; it kept the meeting going for another hour.

Andromache pulled him out of the room right afterwards, before he could make his report to Nicolò. “I never thought of Nicolò as the type to lose his head over a pretty face.”

“Well, I am _very_ pretty,” Yusuf told her with something resemble a straight face.

“Did you know I recruited Nile? Back when she was just old enough to hold a blade. And she’s never been a very good liar.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

Andromache gave him a dirty look. “The point is, you were right; it would be faster and safer to go by sea. But somehow, that’s not what we ended up agreeing on, and I don’t like it.”

“You’re in charge of the military, and I am sure the Duke trusts you.”

“Clearly he doesn’t,” she said, startlingly, and shook her head. “I hope you like riding.”

*

They travelled south. It took two weeks to arrange. It felt extremely strange to Yusuf to ride out without his sword on his hip. He had it, bundled up, he just couldn’t draw it at need. But it would not at all be in keeping with the person he was supposed to be; charming, decorative, unimportant – or only as important as Duke Nicolò allowed him to be. The court seemed to have mostly got used to his presence. It would not be intelligent to make them start asking questions again, right now.

Still, Yusuf’s belt felt unaccustomedly light.

It was a week’s journey by land to the agreed location on the border, and barely a day by sea; Yusuf had only been traveling by land himself, returning, because they had had business in some of the smaller towns. The Duke’s retinue did not move speedily, either. They stayed the first night at a villa owned by Abbess Meta, or rather her abbey. Yusuf found himself sharing a bed with the Duke; of course, having a bed at all was an unaccustomed luxury, but on the other hand – well. They still hadn’t spoken about the balcony. He was fairly certain they wouldn’t.

He lay there, listening to Nicolò’s not-asleep breathing, and eventually said “Did you suspect him? Keane. Before I recognised him.”

“Yes,” Nicolò said, not pretending to be asleep. “If you were going to say anything, I didn’t want it to be because I’d suggested it. But – yes. Or…not Keane, precisely.”

“He’s Lord Stephen’s man, isn’t he?”

“Through and through.” Nicolò turned on his side. “And Meta is an old ally.”

“You don’t need _me_ here,” Yusuf said. “You should have guards. Inside this chamber, not outside.”

“That would be insulting to the Abbess, of course.” His eyes glittered wryly in the moonlight that filtered through the shutters. “And besides, why would I have guards in here when I could have better company? Is what everybody would wonder.”

“Oh, of course,” Yusuf said, and felt heat rising along his whole body; the bed was not that large, and Nicolò was very close. Yusuf could feel the whisper of his breath on his cheek. And when everybody thought, anyway –

“Did you know my mother has met yours?” Nicolò said.

Yusuf jerked back an inch or two. “Ah – no? But my mother has done business with half the city, if not more.”

“My mother did not say precisely what the circumstances were,” Nicolò murmured, “but what she did say is that although of course I had been elected Duke and could do what I liked, she thought it would be very unkind of me to mislead you, when you were such a dutiful son of good parents.”

“Mislead me?” Yusuf blinked. “In what way?”

“About where this might lead you. Us.”

“I presumed – tell me if I am wrong – that it was going to lead us to figuring out what plot killed my friends and your troops.”

Nicolò opened his mouth and paused, as if he had expected some other answer. “Yes – well – yes. Exactly.”

“Then we are agreed,” Yusuf said, and turned over, to remove himself from temptation, although the mention of his parents had done a great deal to remove it already. He did wake up entangled with Nicolò, but that was a hazard of sharing a bed with him that Yusuf had warned the Duke about the night before, and neither of them made anything of it.

The journey proceeded with fair weather and good time. Two nights before they were due to reach the border, they had to make camp; there was no town or estate that could deal with a party of their size. They were in a rugged area of terrain that Yusuf knew well, for a very specific reason.

This time, Yusuf found himself alone with Nicolò in a tent. It was a very grand tent, as these things went – with a wooden camp bed rather than bedrolls – but still a tent, with canvas walls. Its privacy was illusory; more illusory still because, as Yusuf well knew, any light inside shadowed them against the walls of the tent. Which was unfortunate, because he had something he needed to tell Nicolò.

He gestured to him to sit down on the bed. Nicolò did so, with a look that said clearly he wanted to know what was going on. Yusuf grinned, and straddled his lap. The look on his face, before Yusuf put his lips to his ear, was very gratifying. So was the feeling of his hard thighs under Yusuf.

“Tomorrow we’re going to be riding past one of the back routes through the mountains,” he said quietly, into Nicolò’s ear. “You can bring a small party through there from the city. Perhaps faster than we have travelled. It should not be a concern unless the river is up, and we have to take the bridge rather than the ford.”

“A back route, hmm,” Nicolò said. He shifted his weight, and Yusuf wobbled; he put his hands on Yusuf’s waist, presumably to steady him. They were very large, and very warm. “And how do you know that?”

“There are a number of reasons one might want to go that way,” Yusuf said. “Only, oh, two or three of them involve avoiding tariffs. That’s much more easily done by sea.”

“I’ll let Captain Nile know,” Nicolò said, equally low and in Yusuf’s ear. Yusuf had a sudden vivid flash of what it would feel like if he nibbled at the lobe, and bit his lip.

Nicolò reached over and snuffed the lamp, but didn’t move to push Yusuf off. Before he could think about it too hard, Yusuf stood up. Then, as soon as Nicolò had drawn his legs up onto the bed, he climbed back on.

Nicolò pulled him down and said in his ear again. “Nobody can see us now.”

“That’s the point,” Yusuf said, and “Tell me to stop if you want me to, your grace.”

Nicolò made a very impatient noise and kissed him.

He was very persistent, in bed. Yusuf had not expected him to be an ungenerous lover, or he would not have bothered in the first place. But he had not expected the way Nicolò was alert for any hint of discomfort. The gentleness of his fingertips on Yusuf’s cheek when Yusuf took him in his mouth. The way he drew things out, hunting out every spot on Yusuf’s tender inner thighs and lower belly that made him squirm before he ever touched Yusuf’s cock. Yusuf felt it was a great injustice that he couldn’t beg as loudly as he would have liked to. The camp bed was not that quiet; he didn’t think this was going to go entirely unnoticed; but he didn’t need to give the entire camp the details. He couldn’t have sworn he stayed quiet at the end, though. The very smug noises Nicolò made against his neck, after, suggested he hadn’t.

“I did call you _your grace_ , after all,” Yusuf pointed out as they caught their breath.

“Yes, you can pay for that later,” Nicolò said sleepily, squeezing him around the waist. There probably wasn’t going to be a _later_ , Yusuf knew. But it was a nice thought.

*

The first thing Yusuf noticed the next morning was that Sir Keane wasn’t there. ‘Out scouting’, according to Lord Stephen. Captain Nile’s eyes flashed. “I don’t remember asking him to do that.”

“He’s extremely diligent,” Lord Stephen said haughtily.

Yusuf wondered for a second why on earth Nicolò had allowed him to come, or not simply had Nile arrest him, and Keane too. But he knew it was not that simple. All the evidence they had was Yusuf’s word, and Stephen had been a strong contender for the Duke’s chair. Arresting or accusing him without good evidence would win Nicolò no friends, and might even lead to his own downfall. Reigning Dukes had been exiled before.

The camp was nearly packed when Keane returned. He bore word that the river had risen – rainfall in the mountains – and the ford was not safe to pass.

Yusuf decided he didn’t care what it looked like, or what questions it might raise; he started working his sword from its place under his saddlebags. He was halted by Nile.

“Come with me – yes, and your horse,” she said, and took him to the back of the party, where the guard were gathering. “I found these for you; your choice whether you want them right now.”

She put a bundle in his arms. It was a helmet, a plate-studded leather jerkin, and a round buckler. Yusuf appreciated the last one particularly. He’d learned to fight from his uncle, who had grown up on the other side of the sea, and wouldn’t know what to do with one of the big kite-shaped shields most of Captain Nile’s guard used. Well, he would use one if he had to, but this was better.

“I do,” he said. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“If it was up to me,” said Nile, “we’d be turning back right now. But it’s not.” She nodded at the bundle. “If you’re going to put that on, you’re riding with us. Fewer questions.”

Yusuf gestured his assent, and armoured himself. It was a warm day, and he was going to regret it, but much less than he would regret not wearing it. The shield and sword went on his belt. As they all mounted – or began to walk beside the wagons – he saw Nicolò exchanging words with Nile, and glance back.

Yusuf was sure the ambush would come, if it came, at the bridge. He was wrong; it came before that, on a part of the road that dipped down into a small valley. It also came in much larger numbers than he had expected. He had told Nicolò _a small party_ , and meant it. It would have taken real effort to move this many men through the mountain route.

Someone had wanted to make real effort.

As soon as Nile’s outrider came galloping back, with an arrow in her shoulder, Yusuf was dismounting. This wasn’t a trained cavalry horse; he wasn’t going to do it or himself any favours by trying to go into battle mounted. But that meant he was trying to catch up to Nicolò, near the front of the group, on foot. Keane got there first, and he wasn’t alone. By the time Yusuf fought his way through, he had Nicolò backed up against a tree. There were two dead or dying men at their feet, but Nicolò was wearing short-sleeved mail and bleeding from his right arm.

Yusuf discovered a sudden turn of speed he hadn’t known he possessed. He slammed into Keane shoulder and shield-first, too angry even to use his sword properly. It gave Nicolò time to duck away.

“I see you’ve stepped up from murdering travellers in their sleep,” he snarled, but Keane just looked confused, and then grim. Yusuf didn’t give him time to say anything, really. He kept him off-balance with brute force, and ran his head into the tree. He crumpled. It was the sort of thing you might get up from, but you probably wouldn’t.

Yusuf had thought he might feel revenged; instead he just felt very tired. Nicolò touched his arm, and circled so they were back to back. They needed to be. Their attackers weren’t bothering with the wagons, or the valuables; they were aimed at the Duke and his close escort.

This was, Yusuf was starting to realise dimly, not a fight that was going to end well, unless something changed. He skewered another ambusher and realised he wasn’t going to be able to get out of the way of the next one’s sword.

It was a sick, endless moment of resignation, before the other man went down with three arrows in his chest. Yusuf straightened to see someone who looked very like General Andromache’s wife ride past, shooting backwards with a small recurve bow.

“That’s a neat trick,” Yusuf said, surprised.

“You should see her at tourneys,” panted Nicolò.

More of Andromache’s soldiers poured in; some of Nile’s guard staggered back, and formed a protective line around Nicolò. Yusuf tried to step out and join them, but Nicolò held him back. Yusuf decided to let him. He wasn’t trained with them, and that counted in this sort of fight.

Yusuf had never been in a battle of this size. What surprised him about it was how long it took to be properly over. Little scuffles kept breaking out. Nicolò asked that everybody be gathered, and it took time. Some of the servants had, very sensibly, simply fled. They found Captain Nile standing over Merrick’s body, her axe embedded between his shoulderblades.

“That,” Nicolò said, “is going to be a problem.”

“Trust me, it was much more of a problem in the moment,” said Nile. “He went after the Pisan ambassador.” The woman in question was leaning against one of the wagons, looking stunned.

“I see,” Nicolò said, scratching his chin. “Well, then.”

Andromache approached, still mounted. “Your grace. Still not dead, despite your best efforts.” Her eyebrows went up when she looked at Yusuf, armed and armoured and bloody.

“I’ll try not to disappoint you next time,” Nicolò said. “When did you decide to bring extra troops after us?”

“Sébastien,” she said, as if that explained everything. “I’ll explain later.” Alright, maybe it didn’t.

Abbess Meta was brought up by some of Andromache’s soldiers. She was admonishing them in a very dignified manner for putting their hands on a woman of God. It didn’t appear to impress anybody.

“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded of Nicolò.

“You will forgive us for taking precautions,” he said, “but your two closest allies on my council just tried to kill me.”

“I know nothing of this,” she announced. “We were ambushed –”

Yusuf snapped his fingers. “I remember. The village at the other end of the pass is part of her abbey’s lands; she would have known about it.”

“Yes,” agreed Nile. She turned to Yusuf. “I think when you came through, the people you couldn’t find, to report to – they were out looking for survivors.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Abbess said dismissively, but her eyes flickered. “And while we’re speaking, _your grace_ , I cannot fathom why you’re listening to this – this –” She sneered at Yusuf. “Who _are_ you? Aside from the Duke’s –”

“Oh, nobody important,” Yusuf interrupted her lightly. “Nobody at all, really.”

“Please don’t speak to, or about, my betrothed that way,” Nicolò said very firmly. “Nile, can you see that the Abbess is escorted somewhere…secure? And Andromache, we _are_ going to this meeting, so you will have to work out how many soldiers you can bear to send me with, without alarming the Pisans. Consult with the ambassador, perhaps.”

Andromache nodded sharply. Nile was already taking Abbess Meta away.

Yusuf turned to Nicolò. “What did you just call me?”

“Ah…” Nicolò had the grace to look embarrassed. “I suppose I didn’t ask you, did I?”

“No!” Yusuf said, because the whole idea was preposterous. Utterly preposterous. It had been fun wandering around the palace for a few weeks, getting to listen in on important meetings but not _responsible_ for them, but the idea that he could – as some sort of – on the other hand. There was Nicolò. Who looked slightly abashed, but also very stubborn, and who Yusuf had a dreadful feeling he didn’t want to give up.

His parents were _not_ going to understand this. Oh, well.

“That is,” he said, “yes, but no, you didn’t.”

“Because,” Nicolò said at once, “I – wait. Yes?”

“Yes!” Yusuf said again, in case he hadn’t understood, or somehow changed his mind, but neither of those things were a problem; Nicolò grinned and kissed him very soundly. It didn’t make Yusuf feel any less battered or bloody, but it made him mind it less.

“You still have to come to the council meetings,” Nicolò said. “In fact, I’m going to insist on it.”

“To be decorative?”

Nicolò poked him in the chest. “You can be as decorative as you please, but you know that’s not why.” He went quiet for a second. “I can rely on you, I find. It is rarer than you’d think.”

“Yes,” Yusuf agreed. “You can.”

*

Yusuf was very tempted to show up to his first council meeting as the Duke’s consort barefoot and with his lute again, just to see what happened, but in the end he decided not to. He really would have to start learning some more songs, if he did that.

The first thing he did was carefully draw in the little pass, on the big map on the wall. The _next_ thing he was going to do was get a copy made with the trade routes, but that could wait.

Andromache arrived just as he was finishing. “I can’t believe Nicolò didn’t tell me what you were really doing here.”

“He’s very cautious,” said Yusuf, which was true from one very specific perspective and not at all from several others.

Andromache snorted. “No he’s not.” She looked at what he’d done to the map. “But he’s got good instincts. You’re going to do well.”

“Thank you,” Yusuf said, genuinely touched. Andromache wasn’t the type to hand out compliments lightly.

Nile was the next person into the room; she smiled and greeted him. Yusuf smiled back, and as everybody else filtered in - Nicolò near the last, as usual – he stepped up beside her, to take his place at the table.


End file.
